My Father always told me… take time out for yourself.

6 months, to be exact.

I’m so sorry (do people still read this? Probably not). I was rushing around finishing a university degree and also trying to find a job (success at finishing uni study…failure at finding a job) I GOT DRUNK A LOT AND WENT GALLIVANTING AROUND NEW SOUTH WALES. I also had to deal with A LOT of family drama.

The downside is that the family drama which has further unfolded since August 2011 has been entirely horrible and reminiscent of a terrible American soap opera plot line.

However, I am always one to see the silver lining. I’ve grown stronger as a person. My mother has grown stronger as a person. I feel more positive about my life now than what I did 6 months ago, even if the situation appears to be much worse on paper. I have learned MANY lessons in life.

And hey, I have a fucking bucketload of new ammo and stories to write about in this blog now.

Also, I have decided to draft and start a new blog to coincide with this one. Because I wasn’t clinically insane enough already. I am still undecided on theme, concept and content. Perhaps a sarcastic observation on society as a whole instead of the inner devil workings of my former Father? I think I am going to aim to make this blog more private. So if you have access to this right now,  embrace it.

I’ll try not to leave it half a year between posts again.



My Father always told me…embrace technology 2.0

So I had written my previous mammoth post and then lost it when the university Internet decided to crash, losing all my unsaved work.

I logged onto my wordpress app on iPhone, and found my post saved to my account as a draft.


My Father always told me…take time out to re-evaluate your life.

As far as life goes, I like to think of myself as a pretty sociable person.

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved making new friends and forming close friendships. This happened throughout my entire life, and still continues to this day during my final semester of university study.

It is because of this that I usually find myself almost fearing loneliness; on the flip side however, my life has gotten so busy that I usually find the only time I have to myself is at night when I am getting ready for bed or at the City Hub when I have a huge assessment due. I have learnt to embrace these times to myself.

Last weekend, I completely and emotionally gave myself a Chernobyl chemical meltdown. I was standing in the kitchen, washing up dishes, and I literally burst into tears. At first I assumed it was a ‘high’ side effect of the Hexavalent Chromium that Orica ‘accidently’ released into the atmosphere, putting the entire North Eastern/Inner Western suburbs of Newcastle on chemical pollutant alert, until I realised; over the last two years, coupled with the fact that my own Father no longer wanted to call me his son, had finally caught up with me. I had been strong for 2 years, and I couldn’t hold on any longer.

So I walked into my bedroom, shut the door, and didn’t exit for over 24 hours. I watched sad movies, and cried. I watched happy movies, and cried. I watched ‘Mean Girls’, and cried. I ate packets of Tim Tams. I ate packets of Twisties. I slept in a semi-comatosed state for about 12 hours.

The next day, I woke up, showered, got dressed, and left the house.

My first stop was Newcastle museum, a place that had only recently opened up a few weeks before in the Honeysuckle Harbour development. I marvelled at the installation pieces; which included a giant globe, scientific ‘hands on’ exhibits, a history of the BHP steel works and transport infrastructure in the Newcastle area. Yes, under this uber cool exterior and dashing good looks, I am secretly a nerd at heart (well not so much secretly since I am a History Teacher and all, but you catch my drift).

The funny thing I noticed was that throughout the museum were young families, with kids running around jumping on equipment and playing with the hands on exhibits. There were also young couples with strollers, and even a few seniors holding hands as they wandered through the glass-lined atrium that forms the entry to Newcastle museum.

I was the ONLY one who was visiting the Newcastle museum BY MYSELF. With my giant manbag and digital camera in tow, I took photographs of some of the exhibits, marvelled at the Ancient Aboriginal stonewares, and climbed on board the original steam tram that ran from Newcastle to Wallsend. By myself. For somebody who thrives on social interaction, this was a huge step for me to take.

I then drove down to Nobby’s Headland, and walked down past the military embankments and onto the South Rockwall. I stood on the end as the rain clouds moved in and the seas whipped up; families and couples again formed the bulk of the people enjoying the last remnants of sunshine as they soon ran off to seek cover. I stood on the edge of the Rockwall and allowed the sea spray and rain to clear away the bad feelings I was holding inside of me. LET IT ALL GO.

I then drove up to the Struzlecki lookout up above Cooks Hill, easily one of my favourite places in the world. To one side is the ocean, dotted with oil and coal tankers waiting to enter one of the busiest coal ports in the world. To the other, uninterrupted views of the city stretching from Stockton to the North to Charlestown in the South; the only thing that prevents you from seeing further south are the foothills that form the far southern suburbs of Newcastle and the gateway to the Sydney Basin.

I sat in my car, with rain lashing the windscreen, and smoked cigarette after cigarette. I listened to The Kooks, I smoked, and I quietly contemplated my life.

Finally, I drove home (damp from the rain), opened two bottles of wine, and consumed them in my kitchen.

Whilst the entire weekend sounded very ‘crazy old cat lady’, it was JUST what I needed to begin the next chapter of my life. The situation was not my fault, and it never was. My Father was the one who chose to abandon the family. My Father is the one who chose to disown me, although he had managed to manipulate his words to allow me to try to burden his guilt for the last two years. IT IS MY FATHER’S ISSUE. NO LONGER MINE.

I have now never felt so good about my life as I have before. My life is actually amazing, and I no longer need to feel ‘abandoned’ by my Father. He can try to sleep at night knowing that whilst disowning me was the hardest thing I have ever gone through in my entire life, it has made me the person I am today. I am a STRONG HUMAN BEING.I love my life and the people who choose to remain in it. I am thankful.

It took a weekend of isolation to do this soul searching, but it needed to be done, and I am so much more thankful for it. Unfortunately, someone tried to rain on my parade by openly expressing their resentment for me not inviting them along to these activities as a ‘date’ through an encoded Facebook status update; but if the last two years have taught me anything, I should only rely on myself as ‘numero uno’. If someone isn’t respecting of my emotional needs or feelings, why should I lend out my heart to them? Whilst I live a very busy life and do not have much time for dating, I am willing to make myself emotionally available to someone who can only respect my feelings in return.

ONWARDS AND UPWARDS. And it has never felt so good.

My Father always told me…sometimes Port Macquarie can be an awesome place (A MUSIC FESTIVAL PLUG.)

You know you want to...


As a seasoned ‘FOTSUN’ attendee, I cannot sell the shit out of this festival enough. Two days of camping, great music, great atmosphere, Hare Krishna food, beach side (literally) lifestyle and BYO booze.

Tickets are $155, and include 2 nights camping with unlimited passouts. The BYO booze (so long as it is not in glass form) rule is a big selling factor too. No overpriced festival beers!

You know you want to.

My Father always told me…the early bird always catches the worm.

If there is one thing I cannot fucking stand, it is early morning starts.

In fact, the only time I can tolerate an early start (sidenote: an early start constitutes any time before 10am) is when I am excited for an anticipated roadtrip, or when I know I have to go to school to teach (Yes, I love teaching THAT much that early morning starts are pretty much acceptable in my life.)

But when it comes to university, or errands, or anything else that generally involves waking up early (such as racing out to take the wheelie bin out before the garbage truck reaches the house at 5am. I like to call it the ‘Wednesday morning mad dash’), I would much rather curl back up in my doona and not disturb the world until 10.30am. These kinds of sleep ins will ensure that World War Three doesn’t explode onto the streets of Newcastle.

My obviously beautiful “morning person” persona is the total opposite to my fathers, who relished in getting up early even on his days off work. 6am was too late to sleep in, especially when there are waves to be surfed, swimming pool to be cleaned, hedges to be trimmed and fences to be painted! Often I would be dragged out of bed to prepare the yacht for sailing, or to learn how to surf. Whilst I cherish the bonding memories, my bed was never far from my mind.

Contrary to other peoples childhoods, I have ALWAYS loved sleeping in. Except on Christmas Day, which was the only acceptable day to wake up as the sun rises. I have rarely woken up to watch the sunrise; the only sunrises I have seen have been a result of pulling all nighters, when I am already awake.

This semester I have two days in a row with 8am starts. I have to leave the house by 7.20am to battle the morning peak hour traffic and find a car park at uni for my 8am class. BALLS.

I would much rather send somebody else to go and catch the worm for me. I’ll happily share the benefits.

My Father always told me…let people know that you’re alive.

There will be a new post coming up soon!

In the meantime, here is a photo of my housemates dog trying to be Lady Gaga.

D x


My Father always told me…things are never as bad as you think they are.

I’ve been trying to think positively lately. Most of the time I succeed; other times I fail. In a nutshell, I’ve had a pretty shit last couple of years compared to the rest of my life.

This semester I am undertaking a History course which looks at the history of Israel and Palestine after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. It covers the conflict in the middle east up until the present time, and today we watched a documentary on Israel’s conquests of West Bank and what this means to the last remaining Palestinian people who are being pushed away from their homes. Whilst the United Nations condemns the actions of the Israeli Army, they do not act on these condemnations in fear of being branded Anti-Semetic.

I cried twice in the space of 50 minutes. This is not an unusual occurrance in my life, particularly of late with divorce dramas and family heartache. But, for the first time in a long time, I was showing emotions for an issue to which I am not directly involved in.

The direct actions of the Israeli Army on the Palestinian people directly MIRRORS the actions of the Holocaust in World War Two. Check points prevent people from accessing hospitals, education, and even sources of water. The Israeli’s have created a new society of apartheid, with Jewish towns, roads, transport and farmland. Many Palestinian towns have been fenced off and isolated from other towns and cities in an attempt to create Palestinian ghettoes. After watching this documentary, I cannot see many differences between it and the Holocaust represented in the Hollywood film ‘The Pianist’ (except for maybe the decade, culture and religion targeted). Considering the chequered past of Jewish History, I honestly thought the Israeli government would know better.

After watching this documentary, I came to the realisation that the world is fucked. Physically, morally, psychologically fucked. Famine’s in Africa, war in the Middle East, hatred…well…everywhere.

[I’m a pretty optimistic person…it took me a while to come to this potent realisation.]

I may be going through a rough patch in my life, but I realised today how fucking lucky I really am. I may be a broke university student who isn’t loved by his Father, but I live in a place of peace and relative harmony, and I have the freedom to say whatever the fuck I want without consequence. I want to use my education to help others. Whether that be teaching in the third world, or even teaching in Australia and allocating part of my salary to a worthy cause. I am one lucky motherfucker, and I want to spread this luck to others.

Raise your glasses of thankfulness.